


Loud Even In The Dead Of Night

by gingerschnapps



Category: Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerschnapps/pseuds/gingerschnapps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Viola reflects on her life since marrying Orsino and wonders if maybe Cesario had the better deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loud Even In The Dead Of Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flamebyrd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamebyrd/gifts).



It would be better if she didn't have to do this anymore, Viola thought as she eased the heavy oak door open, one ear alive to the slightest indication of stirring from the huge bed behind her. Her duke slept on, however, as he had every night she felt compelled to venture forth from the sanctuary of their room and her exalted position by his side. By the time he awoke the next morning his wife would be back at his side, perhaps a little more rumpled and worn than usual after a night of rest but ready to claim a headache or a night terror to explain her lack of usual energy. The door closed behind Viola with a barely audible soft thump and she slipped into the shadows against the wall, blessing her lack of encumbering skirts. After five years of marriage she knew these halls with her eyes closed. No guard would catch her now.

It would be infinitely better if she didn't have to do this anymore, but the necessity burned hot and insistent in her breast, not diminishing over the years as she had thought but instead growing stronger. It had been exciting at first, returning to Viola from Cesario, reclaiming her place in the women's world, basking in the light of Orsino's love. Their marriage had been blissful and passionate and Viola had taken joy in watching her husband learn her all over again as woman, not counselor and companion. She had given him children within a year of their wedding: twins, boy and girl, herself and Sebastian writ again. Isabella and Philip were her joys and motherhood another role just adding to the warm joy in her heart.

But that sweet honeymoon state could not last forever. Gradually the fetters of feminine existence made themselves known once more. As Cesario, confidante to the duke, she had been allowed free run of the castle. No door was barred to her, no council too private, no conversation too dear. As Duchess Viola, wife to the duke, men who she had counted as friends now treated her with respectful distance. Courtesy had increased but intimacy had vanished from her life. Worst of all, she had lost her place at Orsino's right hand in all his political dealings. Where once she had sat in on councils and audiences, whispering opinions and thoughts in the duke's ear, now she entertained the wives and daughters of visiting dignitaries and nobility, chattering empty-headedly over embroidery while the men discussed matters of weight behind closed doors.

To his credit, Duke Orsino had tried his best to mend the situation. He had sat up with Viola after one particularly frustrating day as she wept and raged over the unfairness of the role she was now forced into, his normally jovial face unnaturally sombre. Truth be told, he confessed, he too missed Cesario's voice at the councils, Cesario's hand steadying him, showing him different paths and perspectives. He had gained a wife but seemingly lost a friend and had been a fool to think the situation any easier on her. “But the world is not ready, love,” he said. “Not ready for you. Many of these men would not feel comfortable speaking plain with a woman at the table. Even many of my own men look back on the things they did and said in your presence when you were Cesario with deep scorching shame.”

Viola had raised her tear-stained face to his. “But am I not the same person?” she protested. “Are not Viola and Cesario in fact the very same, form and feature, mind and body?”

Orsino had cupped her face in his hands. “They are indeed. My love and my confidante are the very same, and I would not love you any other way. But it does take time, my darling. It always takes time to change the world.”

It had gotten better, Viola thought, trailing her hands along the stone wall and ducking quickly into an alcove as a guard patrolled past. Orsino sometimes invited her to sit in on small council meetings now. She was deputized to act in his stead in the instances where he was too busy to attend to minor tasks himself. He always disclosed in full to her anything discussed beyond closed doors and asked her advice on tricky matters. Nor did he discount that advice either, but considered it fully before choosing to either accept her judgement or go with his own instincts. Truly she was blessed in her choice of husband, having found someone who respected her and genuinely wanted to work with her to make Illyria a more welcome environment for her. But it was not enough. Five years and the changes were so small and it was not enough anymore. And that was when the nocturnal excursions had started. Once a month at most, whenever the air of the castle and the duties imposed upon her became too trammelling and claustrophobic, Viola would don Cesario's garb and slip out of her husband's embrace, out...out...out down the sleeping halls of her home, quiet as a ghost. Down through the dark gardens, out the postern gate on the southern walls, and from thence down into the city for one night of freedom before returning to Orsino's arms on the morn. On those rare stolen nights, Viola could almost convince herself that she still was Cesario, slipping out under cover of darkness on some secret errand for the duke. She was the same person. Nothing had changed, nothing. Well, nothing but one small thing....

As the postern gate clicked quietly closed behind Viola, a slim form detached itself from the stone wall where it had been waiting. “Viola?” a soft voice queried. At her assenting noise, the figure swept off its hat to reveal the rich tumble of golden curls hidden under the hat.

“Olivia,” Viola smiled, and embraced her brother's wife before planting a soft kiss on her lips. “Or shall I say Olivier. Shall we go?” And arm in arm, Cesario and Olivier wended their way down to the waiting city and freedom.

For Viola is not the only one to find her new life....not exactly as she thought it would be.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt in the Twelfth Night fandom. I hope you like it. I know bits are a bit rough. Happy Yuletide.


End file.
